I came to feel that an artist might use anything—a dot, a line, the most conventional or unconventional symbol—to say what he wanted to say.
Marcel Duchamp
A few months ago, while walking our dog past our house, something caught my eye. Our home sits on an elevated corner lot, surrounded by a small lawn and plants covering the slope. Stepping-stone pavers help support the hillside.
To my surprise and delight, it appeared that children had taken rocks from our garden and arranged them on the pavers. The formations looked like little families, each one telling a meaningful story imagined by its young artist. Every day afterward, I would stop and create my own story about the rocks, and I often wondered if my story was similar to their own.
Two of the young artist’s tiny arrangements—each one inviting a story of its own.
Each little formation seemed to tell a story imagined by its young artist.
I was also pleased to think that our young artist—or artists—saw us as neighbors who would welcome their creativity rather than be upset by it. And their creativity sparked an idea. I truly felt called to do what I did next.
I bought some acrylic markers and began painting rocks of my own. If you know me, you might wonder, “What business does Lori have doing anything even mildly artistic?” Trust me, I wondered the same thing!
After finding inspiration from a few creators on TikTok, I painted a Minion and several other designs. Madi, our daughter, who was visiting for the weekend, joined in and painted a few rocks, including an adorable little avocado.
Together, we tucked our miniature masterpieces into different spots along the paver wall, smiling as we imagined the children discovering them and hoping they would bring them a little joy. Perhaps they’d make new stories with these characters and creations we were painting.
A penguin, a little love, and a ladybug—more tiny characters waiting to be discovered.
I think I was also secretly hoping that people would see the rocks and maybe start adding their own creations to the wall. But I didn’t put up a sign or anything inviting others to participate, so that thought was only in my head.
And then I noticed that something else began to happen instead. One by one, our rocks started to disappear.
I discovered that my Minion was missing first. So I quickly painted another one, and it was taken the next morning. Then another design was gone, and then another. Honestly, I was a little disappointed, as I had just assumed that people would leave the rocks in place for others to enjoy as they walked by our makeshift outdoor art museum.
Meanwhile, Madi had a different concern: no one had taken her avocado. The nerve! Eventually, though, Avocado vanished as well.
One early evening, Mike came in from doing some lawn work, and he was crying. With the recent loss of his father, I thought something must have triggered a grief response, but that wasn’t the case in this instance.
Instead, he told me that he was working outside when a mom and her son came by. The boy walked immediately to the wall and started interacting with the painted rocks. He pointed to Happy Bumble Bee and started talking to himself about it. Then he carefully lifted it from its nook and placed it in his pocket.
His mother looked up at Mike and said, “I’m sorry. Is that okay?” Mike, of course, told her it was fine, and then started talking with her. She told him that her son loves the rocks and looks at and talks to them every day. She also described him as “very shy” and said that he doesn’t really interact with people often. Mike told her that his wife—that’s me!—had hoped the kids would love the rocks, and he was happy her son enjoyed them as intended.
His tears were because this boy was obviously autistic, and his mom was using coded language, as we all have done when we don’t have it in us to try to explain our child’s actions.
We had found our artist! And wouldn’t you know it? He’s autistic.
When Mike filled me in on his conversation and his observations of the boy, my tears started to flow as well. When I first saw the rocks so adorably arranged on our pavers, I knew there was an awesome child—or children—behind the work. I just didn’t know how awesome he truly was. No wonder I felt such a connection to those little rock creations.
Now, when anyone comes to visit, they get to paint a rock for our wall, and some take bets on how long it will take for their rock to disappear.
I can just imagine this boy’s bedroom with his painted rock collection growing and growing. Is his mom secretly wishing we’d stop this nonsense? Nah. My guess is that she is nurturing his passion and may even build a special shelf to display his growing collection, because that is what we parents of autistic children do. We find ways, both big and small, to celebrate what brings our kids joy.
I can’t begin to describe the amount of joy this whole thing has brought to me. It has also helped me remember that sometimes things don’t go as originally planned. As it turns out, we were never creating an outdoor art museum. We were stocking one very amazing boy’s home gallery.
P.S. If you’re not planning a visit but want to see how long your creation lasts on our wall of fame, feel free to send it my way.
